Same Old Story
by Rowana Renee
Summary: When history seems to repeat itself, Will finds himself reluctantly but excitedly taking on an apprentice. Between wondering if he's ready for the responsibility and wondering if the boy really has the ability to become a ranger, Will and the cast face several challenges, not the least of which is a long-running mission that could be more dangerous than they realise.


**So...mygrandiose excuse this time is actually pretty reasonable. I have the lamest internet in the history of internet. I literally haven't been able to log on for ages. HOWEVER, I still plan on updating everything. Sanction is almost done, save for one important error that I found that really needs fixing. Anyway, this story is going to be the sort of apology-for-taking-forever present. It's an idea that I've had since before the news of book twelve came out, sort of my own personal book twelve headcanon. Let me know what you think of it, and I'll see what we can do about getting Guardian Ranger and Sanction finished up.**

This will be a little bit similar to Guardian Ranger, mostly in that I'd like for you to send suggestions about things you'd like to have happen!

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~_Same Old Story_~

_Prologue: Breaking and Entering_

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Eight years ago...

The man would never be able to erase the image of himself walking, locked in the unfocused musings of everything that had gone wrong over the past several days. It was a hot day, but he still wore a cloak spun from heavy, rough material, the hood drawn to cover the majority of his face. Under the cloak, he wore a stifling collection of clothing that had probably been intended for winter wear. His thick boots were pale with dust, his steps light and slow despite the urgency of his trip. He had one last resource to attempt.

_Everything else...he'd lost all of it. His farm. His money. His wife, children...even his dog had been killed, protecting him from the soldiers who'd been after him ever since...the beast had been no match for their warhounds, uncollared and slavoring for blood as they'd been._

_The man himself had barely escaped from them, and in any case his left leg had been torn badly, leaving him with a severe limp. He'd reached safety enough for a brief respite, carving himself a hasty crutch from a forked branch before hobbling on. He didn't know how long they would follow him for his crime, but he couldn't afford to rest again until he knew all was well._

_He'd stolen a horse, at some point, when he hadn't been able to carry on on his own feet. The soldiers had caught up with him by then, leading to an intense chase through forestland until he'd lost them. The horse, he'd formed a businesslike attachment to. Mutual concern, at some point, had kept the two of them from much harm for several weeks. _

_Until, nearby the border between kingdoms, the animal had been attacked in the night by a wolf. The wolf wasn't rabid, but the horse was badly wounded, to the point that the man felt himself obliged to let the wolf finish the poor animal off before he killed the wolf himself. And by then, he was hungry enough that meat was welcome, however sorry he was to lose a good horse._

_He'd waited less than a day before continuing across the border, into the neighbouring kingdom. He'd had to continue through thick brush, battling snakes and a burning infection in his wounded leg, before he'd come across the road._

_Which had led to his walk. The cursed, never-ending walk that he would never forget. _

_Not because, during that walk, he'd been considering the events of the past weeks that had brought him to the road, but because of what he found while on it._

_It was the scent that made him look up first, dark eyes darkening further as he looked to the sky. It was a sharp, piercing blue, overlaid with blindingly white clouds. He saw it a moment later, the black smoke curling into the air. Not wisps of smoke as from a campfire, but great billowing pillars, darkening the sky and fouling the air with a choking musk that had the man pulling up the collar of his shirt so as to protect his nose and mouth from the fume._

_He continued his journey, eyes open and wary for any sign of danger resulting from the fire, but for some time he found nothing._

_Until, as he turned a corner, he saw the cause of the smoke._

_The man's brow furrowed as he took in the heap of charred wood, still smoldering. The pile was enormous, large enough to have been an entire house. He could see the blackened remains of what would have been a hearth, the chimney already crumbling from age and the heat of the fire. Nearby, he also saw the remains of a barn, a fenced-in section containing..._

_He drew his cloak a little closer. If there had been much livestock, not much had escaped the blaze. The corpses of what could have been cows, as well as other animals, littered a burnt pasture, lending an acrid stench to the smoke._

_If that had been all, the man wouldn't have been overly concerned. He had his own turmoil to deal with, to make right. He had no time to worry over this destruction. But buildings and dead livestock weren't the only things that caught his eye._

_What captured his attention, just as he moved to carry on past the ruined farm, was the little boy who crouched near the wreckage._

_He couldn't have been more than four years old, a tiny figure kneeling in the still-hot ashes of the destroyed home. He was covered in soot, his small form shivering violently as he spasmed with coughs at worrying intervals. He was staring at his hands, one palm blood-red and wet with painful-looking blisters. He wasn't crying, though. Instead, he had the look of any child who was concentrating on a simple problem that seemed the world to them. He was frowning, a puzzled look on his face as he looked into the ashes, stared at the smoke, fixed his attention on his hands..._

_The man gave a cough of his own, hoping to get the boy's attention, but he was ignored._

_This, the man couldn't walk away from. He shifted awkwardly, leaning heavily on his walking stick. "Lad?" he called, "Lad, are you...are you well?" his voice sounded harsh, ill-used and rough. It rasped in his throat, catching at odd places in the words. He'd not spoken...since everything had happened, aside from in his own mind. The voice that came from his mouth sounded foreign and ugly, probably frightening to a child..._

_But the boy didn't look at him._

_Clearing his throat, the man breathed a sigh and, adjusting his cloak once again, carefully stepped over the burned threshold of the house and approached the lad. Slowly, hands raised where they could be seen. If the little one was in shock, it wouldn't do to scare him. When he was close enough, he hesitated, but reached for the boy's shoulder. His fingertips had barely brushed the child when he felt a reaction. The boy tensed immediately, a soft whine reaching the man's ears a moment later._

_He couldn't kneel, not with his leg the way it was, but he stood by, trying to look comforting and authoritative enough to help this child. "Are you...are you hurt?" he asked quietly, eyes already locked on the palm. He couldn't help but wrinkle his nose at the damage. It looked severe, and he could only hope the hand wouldn't be lost. "Are you alo-" he paused, shuffling awkwardly as he removed his hand from the boy's shoulder._

_"Hey," he litely tussled the hair instead. He couldn't tell if it was really black or if the colour was just from ash, "Where's your mother, lad?"_

_And then the boy looked at him._

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_Present..._

_  
_There was really no reason for the boy to be where he was at that hour.

He was laying down, a near-invisible figure on the cool, dark lawn in front of the castle. He mainly looked at the walls, letting his gaze start where the blades of grass cast their shadows on the bricks and then allowing it to slowly drift up until he could fixate on the window. It was open, the heavy drapes on the inside of the room being pushed gently by the breeze.

From time to time, he'd be distracted as something unexpected entered his field of vision. He stiffened at the sight of a firefly, tilting his head in confusion as it flew in a lazy circle near the window. He made a soft noise of distress as it flew away, and couldn't stop himself from half-sitting up in order to watch it a little longer. Once it was gone, though, he was quiet. He flopped down again rather unceremoniously, looking annoyed.

Then he was looking at the wall again.

In the meantime, his fingers played absently with the grass at his sides. It was damp, was getting his hair and clothes wet, but he couldn't be pressed to care. It felt nice, right at the moment. The ground was still warm from the sun beating down on it all day, but the grass was cool and moist on his cheek as he turned his head occasionally at the noises of the guards doing their rounds.

It wouldn't be nice for too much longer, he knew. He tilted his head back as far as he could, choking a little at the odd angle since he was still flat on his back. He could see the moon; a funny blue crescent shape in the purple-black sky. There were still clouds covering the stars like the curtains of a stage, drawing close with each passing second. They ignored his gentle protests and drifted ever closer to the moon, threatening to cover it any moment.

From where he lay, it was a funny shape, like a wicked smile carved into the sky, glowing down with its pale silver lighting and making the wet drops on the grass visible. The light didn't touch _him_, though.

And then it was covered.

He scowled heavily and sat up, wobbling slightly under a wave of dizziness. It was probably time to go.

It should be simple enough, though he'd never been asked to do anything of the sort before. This was his biggest job yet. That wall...He looked up again, craning his neck to see to the top. He could still see the dark shape of the window, just above. Just above by quite some distance.

He darted a wary gaze around, his shoulders coming up as he almost started to crouch. If he was caught...if he was caught. That was what he was supposed to think about, he remembered. The more worried he was about it, the less likely it was to actually happen. If he wasn't worried, he wouldn't pay attention. He already knew the consequences, he thought. He'd been caught before, during various jobs. It was...unpleasant, to say the least.

The boy scowled at the memory of one occasion, trying to shake away from the recollection as he started toward the wall. The guards were just out of sight, giving him a few moments to get high enough up not to be seen.

The climbing was the only hard part, of course. He'd never been good at climbing, no matter how hard they'd tried to teach him. He pressed as close to the wall as he could, fingers curling against the thin gaps between the bricks. They were were larger gaps a bit higher up, but it would be something of a task to get to them. His hands were pressed to the bricks on either side of his face, his breath warm on the right hand while the left was tickled by the chill of the faint breeze.

He waited for a few moments, counting his hearbeats in time with the guard's footsteps. He waited until it was almost too late, then let his hands work their way up, levering himself almost onto his toes in order to reach one of the larger gaps.

The boy whined plaintively, stretching a little further and leaning harder against the wall until he could just curl his fingers into the gap. He managed to bend his knees somewhat awkwardly, having to push himself up twice before he could get a good jump in.

After that, it was a painful scrabble until he could get a good grip on the stones and get his feet up. There would be one more uncomfortable hop before he could climb properly. Until then, he was in an odd position as he reached for another gap with one hand and tried to keep his feet against the wall.

It seemed like an age before he could get both hands and both feet into a gap. That done, the rest of the climb went smoothly, though remaining quiet when he had to stretch for each handhold would never stop being a challenge. He wasn't quite tall enough to climb a wall like this very easily, but with the guards far below and with no risk of them looking up, he crawled up the wall at a steady pace.

Then came the window.

He peered in cautiously. It was a dark room, but also seemed empty. While his attention was captured for a split second by a portrait on the wall, the only thing he could really focus on was the desk. The desk was why he was here.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, the boy moved toward it, his bare feet making little noise as he crossed the room. He stood curiously once he reached the desk, fingers rubbing across the smooth, worn surface as his eyes flicked back and forth between the papers that were stacked there. It wasn't a specific paper he was after, but a selection of them. He wouldn't have time to review all of them, but he knew where they would be. Not on top of the desk, but inside of it.

He bit his lip, moving more slowly as he went behind the desk, fingertips going to the drawer and just barely closing around the handle. He looked up suddenly, catching sight of the moon from the window. From this angle, it looked different. It was the exact opposite of the way he'd seen it before. Now it looked like a sharp, scowl. Maybe heavily disappointed, accusing.

With an apologetic whimper, he looked down again, squirming as he pulled the drawer open.

It wasn't _his_ fault, he remembered.

His eyes widened with excitement as he found what he was looking for. The papers he needed were tucked to one side of the drawer, pressed neatly together. He pulled them out with a happily guilty pang. Looking around as if he'd already been caught and feeling a hot blush rise to his face, he quickly gathered up the papers and tucked them against his chest like a precious item. He'd have to put them in his coat before going back out the window, of course, but for now he stroked the edges tenderly with the very tips of his fingers, looking at the moon once aga-

He turned at the sound of footsteps, his heart lurching in his chest. He hurried for the window, only to turn back to the desk at the last moment. He stayed in the middle of the room, squirming uncomfortably as he debated which way to go. The steps were close, coming closer, but...he tightened his grip on the papers, looking down at them and blinking hard for several seconds.

The boy made up his mind as he realised there was someone directly outside of the door. He bolted for the desk, ducking under it with much the feeling of a small child awaiting a punishment. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and sucked in a sharp breath through his mouth, curling as small as he could under the desk and rocking with anxiety.

He went dead-still as the door was opened, closed his eyes and counted the footsteps. They were quiet; not the heavy steps he was used to hearing, and it wasn't until they were uncomfortably close to the desk that he could feel them.

"You may as well come out of there, you know,"

The voice startled him, and he nearly hit his head as he jumped in surprise, his eyes forced open in the shock. There was a light. Where would that have come from? He looked around in confusion, realising to his horror that his shadow was clearly visible...

"I thought it might be a good idea to bring a lantern," the voice continued calmly, "Apparently I was right. Are you going to come out, or do I have to call the guards?"

With an admitedly pathetic whimper, the boy crawled out from under the desk, eyes locked firmly onto the floor. He could see a pair of slippered feet, slightly stout legs leading up from them. Whoever was wearing them was also clad in a nightshirt and a red, silky robe that apparently tied, if the hanging tassel was anything to go by. Said tassel was still swinging slightly from the walking, and he found himself watching it quietly as he waited for...whatever would happen.

"Lad?" the voice wasn't unkind, but it was stern, "What's a boy like you doing trying to rob me, hm?"

The boy said nothing, only looked wearily toward the window, wondering if he could get to if he just-

"Don't. Please," the man stepped directly in front of him before he could look away, and his gaze was drawn to the robe, tracing the woven designs until, before he meant to, he had looked up to the man's face as he felt the blood draining from his own. "There's no need to make this unpleasant," the man continued, reaching toward him- only to put his hand down a moment later as the boy moved away with a violent flinch.

The man watched him carefully, making sure to stay between him and the window. "I'm sure you know who I am," he went on, "But I have to ask you for an introduction. I can only imagine that this wasn't some sort of foolish prank, since you haven't let go of those papers yet. What are you doing?"

He had the same tone of disappointment that the boy had thought he'd seen in the moon only a few minutes ago, though they'd never met. He shuffled his feet, still clutching the papers protectively to himself.

"Come on," the man insisted, "If you give those back without a fight and tell me who you are, I'll see to it that you aren't dealt with harshly. You have nothing to gain by trying to lie now." when the boy still refused to meet his gaze, the man sighed, "At least give me your name?"

The boy squirmed in place, biting his lip hard enough that the man worried he might draw blood if he kept it up any longer. Finally, he opened his mouth. At first, there was no sound and the man had to strain to hear, but then he caught the whisper and the tone that was more like a question than a statement.

"William, eh?" the man tried to hold back a smirk, "There was another Will, broke into my office once." he frowned a little, taking a closer inspection, "You even look like him, a little." his expression softened at the memory, a wistful look coming over him for just a second, shaken off a moment later as he moved toward the desk, herding the boy along with him. "Why don't you have a seat so we can discuss this?"

Why he would want to do that, the boy wasn't sure, but he paused by the chairs as the baron continued around to the other side, taking a seat in his own chair as William stood stiffly in front of him. "Please," Arald said, gesturing to the chair, "I've no intention of harming you."

William cringed and sat down, though not in the chair. Instead, he simply sat on the floor, fiddling with the carpet and twirling the edges of the papers he was still holding.

Arald frowned, but tried to maintain his calm demeanor. "Now," he said, "William. What could you possibly want with those papers?" There was a full beat of sifted silence before the baron tried again, looking over his desk with a little firmer expression, "William?"

The boy laid back, looking curiously up at the ceiling and breathing a bit heavily. He mumbled something inaudible, giving the baron a pleased expression before realising he hadn't been understood. He gave a sulky scowl before taking a deep breath and repeating himself, barely louder than before. "Paid to fetch 'em," he said quietly, holding up a hand and stretching out his fingers, save for the thumb, which he kept curled toward his palm. "That much for each page."

The baron blinked in confusion, shaking his head to clear it. "Can you tell me who wants these pape-"

"No sss...sir." he let his hand fall back to his chest, turning his head to one side as he continued to look at the ceiling.

"Well..." Arald sighed yet again, unable to help but wonder if the lad was entirely...functionable. "Do you have a family? What do your parents do?"

The boy seemed to stop breathing for a moment, going totally still for several seconds before he finally replied, once again quietly enough that the baron was hard-pressed to understand him. "Got a...a..." he made a frustrated sound, shaking his head, "Nn. Nobody _family_. Hhh...had a mama," he was holding up one hand again, staring intently at his palm, "had aaaa...da', and a brother, bigger than me...had a sister. Had uncle and grampa, and Kin." he took a deep breath, letting it out painfully slowly, "They...went away."

Arald waited patiently while the boy answered, though he couldn't say he was happy about the way the question was answered. "They went...?" he thought he knew the answer, and the vague wave the boy replied with answered his question well enough. An orphan, then. "Do you live in Redmont?"

The boy made him wait for that answer, sitting up slowly and crossing his legs, still not looking at the baron. He seemed to hesitate on the answer once he decided to give it, finally offering a muffled 'yes' that sounded far from certain.

"You live on your own?"

William shook his head vehemently, turning back to the window only to look sorely disappointed when he saw that the moon was still covered by the clouds. "Always somebody with me," he murmured, " 'cept during fetching...supposed to be alone for that, but..." he gave Baron Arald an accusing look, "when I'm not fetching, though," he trailed off for just long enough that Arald thought he wouldn't continue, then the words came in a bit of a rush, "Then there's _always_ someone."

He didn't look overly pleased by the fact. Arald frowned thoughtfully, rubbing at his chin and watching William carefully. He no longer seemed inclined to try escaping, but seemed perfectly content to sit there and play with the rug. He really did look like a young version of Will Treaty, younger even than when Will had broken into his office. He had a similarly shaped face, and the messy brown hair looked familiar. But it was a dusty brown instead of dark like Will's, and his eyes were a dull gray-brown, almost looking unfocused.

It wasn't just the similarity to Will that softened the Baron's disposition toward him, either. He was always sympathetic toward orphans, and if this boy could be believed, then he was one. He also seemed...not quite right, as much as Arald hated to think it. If he was correct in his thinking of what the 'fetching' the lad had referenced was, then this wasn't the first time he'd stolen, and apparently he was a thief for hire.

By all rights, he ought to spend at least the night in jail, but if he had nowhere to go afterward...

Arald cleared his throat. "If I let you go, what are you going to do?"

The boy actually looked at him, stared at him properly for almost a full thirty seconds, eyes never ceasing their movement in exploring every line of his face. "I..." he put his head down, thought it over for some time. Then, very purposefully, he held up the small stack of papers, "You can...keep these?" he squirmed, clearly uncomfortable with the idea, "not gonna...get paid that way, but..." he gave Arald a look not unlike a little one answering an uncertain question, "That's...that's alright. I can get it somewhere else. Lots'a people to ask."

And then, barely visible, his lip trembled and his eyes brightened in a very specific way, "Please," he breathed sharply, quivering where he sat, "Please don't make me go in there...where I'm supposed to be..."

"In where?" Arald couldn't keep the concern out of his voice.

William seemed to fight for composure, closing his eyes tightly and wriggling almost violently in place. He went still, then, still blinking very hard. "The guards," he said quietly, "They..." he quieted, looking at the floor again.

So he had been arrested before, and was clearly afraid of it happening again.

Arald let the silence continue while he thought further about it. "You're just gonna go back to stealing if you go to prison, aren't you?" he murmured, not expecting an answer. That much was obvious. If the boy had no other options, then what else was he going to do? But really...what could Arald do about it? He hadn't said if his father had been a soldier, if his parents had been casualties of a war, and Castle Redmont really wasn't an orphanage. Ward priviledges were generally extended only to the orphans of military families, though, Arald knew, he had taken in a few special cases before. This certainly warented as much, although he already had four wards ensure the care of.

That, and they were all old enough to go through a Choosing Day, which was just around the corner. This lad...Arald didn't think he looked fifteen. Then again, Will hadn't either. Maybe William was just small for his age. But, there was something not quite right about him. Arald didn't know if he was just odd, or if there was really something wrong. But he couldn't picture William with any of the Craftmasters, didn't know if he could even read. He didn't seem like he'd make a good farmhand, either.

But, if it would buy him some time...

Arald sat up a little straighter. "William," he said quietly, "What if you stay here tonight?"

The boy turned a ghostly shade of white, clearly misunderstanding. He was too flustered to even beg and just sat there, mouth moving silently in horror.

Arald rubbed his temple in aggrivation. He could feel a definite headache coming on..."No, no," he assured, "Not in the jail. I mean here, in the castle. In the ward. I'm not one for turning anyone away who has nowhere else to go. You'll at least get a few decent meals and a warm bed for a few nights until we can think of something."

But the boy was already shaking his head, stammering some nonsense that wasn't understandable, save for a few words here and there. "Can't stay here," he finally managed almost a complete sentence, "Not...not here. Have to..." he looked genuinely upset, blinking away unshed tears once again, "I-if I can't keep these pa..paper, I have to...to m-make up for it, and-"

Arald cut him off quickly. "No, lad, you don't. You won't need any money while you're here. And I'm afraid that if you refuse this offer, I'll have no choice but to let you go through the proper channels. Which means jail, William. Even though you're young, you'll be in there for at least a week over this."

He could already see the effect those words were having, and while he hated to scare the boy like that, he knew there wasn't much of a choice. "So which would you prefer?" he tried to keep his tone gentle, but the boy was giving him that accusing look again, looking hurt.

William finally nodded wordlessly, a thoroughly defeated look coming over him.

Arald smiled, retrieving a quill and a blank piece of paper from one of the desk drawers. He scrawled a hasty note before folding it and putting it into an envelope, which he began filling out without looking at it. "You won't regret it," he said gently, "I don't know what kind of life you've been having to live, but if you make a little effort and let us give you a chance, everything will get much better."

William was already looking out the window again, yet again totally distracted by the clouds drifting away from the moon. 

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**Okay, so there was going to be a second "Eight years ago" section right here, but I decided that it was just a little too much information at once. Don't worry though, you'll get most of William's curious past at some point. Remember, this wasn't the interesting part of the story. That comes in the next chapter and beyond.**

You can probably guess where this whole thing is going, right? Ehehe. It's going to span...pretty much all genres, actually. It's got drama and humour *I promise. At some point, it gets funny* and then there's also angst, of course. Some mystery, some shippings...a little bit of everything!

So, lemme know what you think, please! Remember, the more detailed of a review you give, the happier I am! ^_^


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